Significance
by jiiiiim
Summary: After STIII: Search For Spock. Spock's POV. Spock is slowly regaining his memory, but there is still something missing in relation to those memories with Jim.


Significance.

There are theories, facts and all sorts of explanations for things that are enough to make me raise an eyebrow out of interest. But is this _significance_?

As I lay down on my bed in silent contemplation, suddenly, through closed eyelids, I see your face. A glimpse of a random memory I wasn't aware of having up until that very moment. It never mattered what we were doing in that memory - be it a game of chess or quiet chatter in your quarters late at night - because you would smile at me, the corners of your hazel eyes wrinkling, and you'd flash that set of perfect teeth. This should not mean anything at all, but it does.

Somehow, you are significant.

I'm thinking of all the reasons why it is so. My father's first words after my rebirth were about you and how you risked all that you had to bring me back to who I was before. And still, there are others with you - familiar faces perhaps more familiar than others - who did the same for me, but they don't catch my attention like you do.

It is true, based on the knowledge I've gained from my recurring memory, that we'd spent more hours together than we'd done so with other people, however a part of me still thinks there is more of a reason to why I keep thinking about you than that. I asked my mother what we were like, and she said you "meant a lot to me." As did Dr. McCoy. As would the others if I had the chance to speak with them.

I have all the answers to logical questions, and yet I feel incomplete.

Now I find myself wandering into your temporary quarters in my father's house. It's late at night but you turn your head the moment I walk through the door. You give me a smile like the ones in my distant memories, but not quite the same. Your eyes look sad and I do not know why.

You greet me, standing up from a desk from where you were writing. Writing what? I know you are poetic, however, whatever you'd been writing does not distract me for long because you now stand just a foot in front of me and that strange, lost part of myself is telling me yet again that you are very different from the others. You are more than significant. You must be.

Still, you look so sad. Even after you'd said my name I could have sworn I saw your eyes watering up. It concerns me. Why are you so upset? Is it because of my presence here or something else entirely? Am I intruding on you? Do you want to be left alone?

But you laugh and suddenly all my questions are unimportant. Your hand grabs my shoulder and I feel something change inside of me. I hear the leap in my heartbeat. Your face is still the same. Slightly sad, slightly happy. You ask me if anything is wrong and I reply, maybe a little too quietly, with "nothing." You nod, the expression you have somewhat disappointed, and I can feel you distancing yourself but I don't want that to happen. I can't let it happen; to let you go away from me. Not again.I reach for your hand and you are surprised but you don't pull away. Your fingers fill the gaps between mine, and with the contact comes a familiarity that makes me feel like I belong, and that my friend, does not come often.

It is so quiet I can hear the both of us breathing. I whisper, asking your permission for what I discover is the reason I came here in the first place. I ask you to let me into your mind, and you allow me with no hesitation in your voice when you murmur a breathy "yes."

My fingers reach for your face. You close your eyes as though you were tired for so long and finally given the chance to sleep. I close my eyes, too. You show me everything.

I see the first time we ever sat down to play a game of chess, and how that game, despite the fact I lost each time, turned into two, and then four. We played until it became so late you only realised it when you felt yourself growing tired. I can see the smug looks of content you had before claiming victory, and how I was not bothered when you won, but rather allowed it, soaking in all the smiles you shot at me. I remember how it felt; it gave me a sense of joy, being with you. I remember how I went to my quarters that night and cursed for allowing myself to feel that easily. You were a guilty pleasure to me. The apple in the garden of Eden.

Now I see the day I stopped trying to hold back. We were in your quarters and you were telling me about your childhood and the things that made you happy. You talked so enthusiastically, waving your hands about in the air and I could feel myself involuntarily smiling at you. With you. You were beautiful, running your fingers through your golden hair, then, for some reason, we were talking and you sat down beside me. Our conversation must have been relevant to our actions but I could not hear. You leaned in and kissed me, your hand over mine, and I didn't reject it. I couldn't - the happiness was overpowering. Was it wrong to feel happy? It shouldn't have been. That night I allowed myself to be loved. I allowed myself to love you.

Our minds are one at this point and as much as I wish to go through all our memories, I need to see you in front of me again. In the present, for all you are and all you were before.

I let go and when I open my eyes, I find you crying. You see me and laugh and shake your head, saying you're crying out of happiness to be with me again. I believe you. Your eyes do not show sadness even though under them lie a trail of tears. I take your face in my hands and wipe your tears away, unaware of my own until my vision is blurred. The gush of emotions that hits me is overwhelming - they are what was missing from all my memories with you, but now I remember.

I know why you were so sad before. You knew I wasn't the same, just not quite, but I feel like I know myself again because I've got that part of me back, and that part of me, simply, is you.

You wrap your arms around me and press our bodies together tightly. I return your embrace. You let us go only to take my hands in yours, your fingers caressing mine, making my heartbeat surge. I let out the breath I was holding to say "Jim." You kiss me and I feel your smile in the way your lips are brushing against mine.

You are happy. I am happy. This is the way we were, and the way we should always be.

I've seen your thoughts and they tell me you think I am significant. That we are significant.

Knowing this, I will sleep soundly tonight.


End file.
